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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532691">The Apprentice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueenvelopes935/pseuds/blueenvelopes935'>blueenvelopes935</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:47:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueenvelopes935/pseuds/blueenvelopes935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He is tasked with finding the one man who can save the dying Sith Empire.  To bring back the self-exiled, legendary, and immortal Dark Lord who is the only leader the squabbling Lords will ever agree upon and no one will dare challenge.  But when he ends his quest, he finds more than he expects.  It is time for the Sith to end.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darth Bane &amp; Darth Zannah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Is that him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s hope so.”</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t look like a Sith. He looks like some minor king from a Republic system.”</p><p> </p><p>“That must be his Valkorian guise. He ruled a second empire in the Zakuul system.”</p><p> </p><p>“One wasn’t enough?”</p><p> </p><p>“Apparently not.”</p><p> </p><p>Dessel pulls back from the shuttle window as Zannah crowds closer for a better look outside. He has the same lurid curiosity she does about the man who has walked up to greet them, but he’s trying not to show it. He’s playing this cool so as not to alarm her. But while she’s not looking, Dessel straightens his uniform nervously.  You don’t meet a Dark Lord—THE Dark Lord—looking shabby.  </p><p> </p><p>That they are finally here is as intimidating as it is improbable. Everyone knew this mission was a shot in the dark. A last-ditch effort that was the only solution the fractious Dark Council Lords could agree upon. Amid all the finger pointing and infighting, all conceded that unity would only come from an outsider. No acceptable leader would emerge from among the current options. So, the ruling Lords agreed to seek an alternative in the form of an elusive, mythical, wild bantha chase type fanciful risk. Because that’s how desperate things are back home.</p><p> </p><p>The Sith have a long tradition of strongman leadership, of ambitious cruel men who rise to the top of the heap and impose their iron will on all below.   This is the only way the Sith have ever prospered—when they entrust their fortunes to a single man’s vision.   Authoritarian rule is their comfort zone. For they are a hierarchical society of Masters and Apprentices, of patrons and servants, of elites and common folk, and of numerous gradations of caste in between based on ancestry, species, and origin world.</p><p> </p><p>His boss had taken him aside before Dessel left to speak soft orders under his breath.   Don’t come back unless you find him. If you can’t find him, just defect. To the Republic?? Dessel had been horrified at this treasonous advice. To anywhere, his boss replied. You don’t want to be here while we simultaneously fight the Republic and a bloody civil war. I’m going to find him, Dessel had replied staunchly.   Find him and I’ll train you as a Lord myself, his boss had promised.  And that inducement alone made this lunacy worth the risk.</p><p> </p><p>They gave him a ship and loaded its memory banks with all the extant navigational data of the Sith military. But Dessel had ignored all that technology and let the Force guide him.   That’s how they ended up here . . . wherever here is.</p><p> </p><p>“Vitiate called himself the ‘once and future Emperor,’” Dessel remarks as he reaches for the elaborate velvet lined case that contains the saber he has been sent to present. He plucks out the ancient ceremonial weapon and turns it over in his hands.   It has been the symbol of ultimate sovereign authority since time immemorial, since as far back as the days when the Sith Empire existed in complete secrecy hidden from the Republic. If the Sith had crown jewels, this saber would be it.</p><p> </p><p>“Once and future Emperor--what does that mean?” Zannah asks, glancing back over her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s hope it means he will be our leader again.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s he doing here all these years later?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Dessel admits. That is the part that makes this situation so uncomfortable. Because none of it makes much sense.  “I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re in the Force.”</p><p> </p><p>Yes, he knows. But this is not the World Between Worlds and it’s not a mutual vision.  This is something very different. Dessel can’t place the mental feel of this location. It’s not Dark and not Light. It just  . . . is.  Just like the man outside their ship just . . . is.   It’s very disconcerting. </p><p><br/>
Zannah is still peeking out the window as he stalls some more.   “I thought he would be more impressive.  I expected him to be red.  And taller.  He’s shorter than I expected,” she observes, sounding disappointed.</p><p> </p><p>She’s probably had girlish fantasies of a big strapping warrior, Dessel thinks. He chides, “Looks can deceive.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Master,” she tells him cheekily like she always does when he corrects her.   He and Zannah are not Master and Apprentice.  They both have the Force but he’s not a Lord and she’s . . . well, she’s female.  Plus, they’re colonials, so neither of them would ever qualify for the ranks of the Sith elite who receive actual Force training.  It’s why he’s relegated to serving as an errand boy for the staff of the Dark Council. Zannah is only here now because he refused to leave her behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did he leave again?” she asks, momentarily tearing her eyes from the window.</p><p> </p><p>“No one knows. It was many, many centuries ago. Supposedly, he just walked away one day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would he do that?” she puzzles.  “Who walks away from power?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.”  Dessel speaks aloud his growing misgivings now. “Zee, I have a bad feeling about this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bad because he’s the real deal?  Or bad because he’s just some dude and we’ve come to the wrong place?” she jokes. Zannah’s not the worrier in the family, he is. She plays the role of irreverent to his straight man. “Well? Which is it, Des?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bad because we’re about to be killed,” he answers softly. His eyes find hers so like his own. “Do you sense it too?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she answers immediately. And that gives him encouragement. Zannah is intuitive by nature. Her Force talents are very cerebral. “But take your own sword, not just the one for him,” she advises. “No one can beat you with a sword.”</p><p> </p><p>He appreciates the vote of confidence, but sword skills won’t matter.  “If he’s who I think he is, he doesn’t need a sword to kill me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just take it.  We are the Sith and we never come in peace.”</p><p> </p><p>“Amen to that,” Dessel smirks as he reaches to deploy the shuttle ramp.  Enough stalling. It’s time to do this.  He takes a deep breath. Then he grabs the fancy ancestral sword he’s supposed to present and clips his own homemade weapon to his belt like she suggests.  </p><p> </p><p>“It will be fine,” Zannah assures him, suddenly sounding far more mature than her sixteen years. “He was our leader.”</p><p> </p><p>“Leaders don’t leave,” Dessel grumbles under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“He was our leader,” she responds firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s hope he’s still our leader,” Dessel worries. Zannah now reaches for her own weapon, but he preempts her. “Stay inside.”</p><p> </p><p>“But—“</p><p> </p><p>“If he’s everything they say he is, he’s dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>“So are you,” she pouts. Then, she lifts her pert chin, boasting, “And so am I.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not like him. Zee, if I get in trouble, take off. Don’t come to my aid. Get out of here. Save yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“But—“</p><p> </p><p>“That’s an order. Better one of us dies than both of us. Go anywhere and start a new life.”</p><p> </p><p>She pouts some more, looking like the mulish teenager she is. But she defers.  It’s as insouciant as ever though. Zee bows her head in mock subservience.  “Yes, Master.”  </p><p> </p><p>She makes him smile. He’s a serious guy, but she always cajoles him to come around. Something about her girlish impishness always charms him. Right now, it calms him. “Wish me luck?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no such thing as luck,” she groans at his corny joke.  But she walks into his arms now for a quick, hard hug.  “Go be a hero, Des,” she tells him.  “Save the Sith.”</p><p> </p><p>He whispers back, “I love you, little sister.”  Then he marches down the shuttle ramp to meet his destiny.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing about the man who awaits Dessel at the bottom of the shuttle ramp suggests extremes.  Darth Vitiate doesn’t give the appearance of a man who would merit his astounding bio.</p>
<p>He is tall, but not exceedingly so.  His physique is mostly indeterminable beneath his voluminous robes, save for a pair of broad shoulders.   His pale face is intelligent rather than truly handsome.  It’s wide at the temples and the cheekbones, with deep set eyes. Yellow, naturally.   He sports a full mane of swept back grey-brown hair and a matching beard. The facial hair is a noteworthy departure from Sith custom.  It makes him look like a colonial, and not a Dark Lord.  </p>
<p>Zannah is right, Dessel realizes.  This guy doesn’t look very Sith.  He’s not even wearing black.  No doubt it’s a deliberate misdirect. </p>
<p>As Dessel walks down the ramp to draw closer, he sees that the man’s face shows some effects of time, but nowhere near his true experience.  He appears middle aged.  Mid-fifties, perhaps. Old enough to be in charge, but still vigorous.  Not the several millennia at least that this Sith Lord has actually lived. It’s more sleight of hand, Dessel judges.  He hasn’t spent the last five years being a lackey to various factions of Dark Council members without learning to recognize deceit.  But whereas most Lords posture to inflate their consequence, this man apparently chooses the reverse tactic.  If he’s underwhelming, that must be by design. This man wants to be underestimated.</p>
<p>It’s intriguing, but unsuccessful. For damned if this guy doesn’t emote gravitas. Standing here alone in the middle of nowhere with none of the usual Sith pageantry and throne room stagecraft, he still manages to look majestic. And intriguingly, he appears to have no Force imprint.</p>
<p>“My Lord Vitiate,” Dessel immediately takes a knee in the traditional groveling obeisance to a Sith Master.   Then, horrified at the implication that this man is anything other than a Dark Lord, he hastily amends, “Your Excellency.”  Dessel’s eyes find the ground, but his Force senses see for him.  Already, his heart beats faster and he can feel himself start to sweat.</p>
<p>The man grunts.  “Found me, did you?” Vitiate dismisses him out of hand.  “Go away.  Whatever you have come for, you won’t find it here.”</p>
<p>“But my Lord—your---er—Excellency,” Dessel gulps. He’s determined to do his duty.  “I have been sent by the Dark Council on Korriban. I am authorized to give you this.”  Dessel now offers up the ceremonial hilt.</p>
<p>This is the ritual repeated every time a new Dark Lord’s reign begins.  The incoming ruler accepts the sword of state, and with it the awesome privilege of being the Master of all Masters.   This very act puts a Lord at the pinnacle of Darkness. Men lie, cheat, steal, and kill for this sword, and then they lie, cheat, steal, and kill to keep it.  Much blood has been split through the ages by many great Lord who coveted this very moment.</p>
<p>But not Darth Vitiate. He just glowers.</p>
<p>Is he considering?</p>
<p>Could his silence be refusal?</p>
<p>Maybe contempt?</p>
<p>This man is very hard to read in the Force and his face is giving nothing away.  </p>
<p>As long seconds tick by, the lack of response becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps Lord Vitiate does not comprehend the significance of this offer?  Dessel feels compelled to explain, in case his audience has forgotten the custom he reenacts.  “This is the sword of Marka Ragnos,” he recites with reverence.  “Every Dark Lord since has wielded it.  It is the symbol of his authority.”  A Sith Emperor’s go-to tool for both executions and courtly commendations. </p>
<p>“I know what it is,” Vitiate responds with chilling calm.   “I have foreseen this moment.” With a twisted, annoyed face, the one-time Sith Emperor now grabs the saber and unceremoniously tosses it over his left shoulder.  “Satisfied?” he snaps. </p>
<p>It takes a lot to shock a Sith, but Dessel is utterly scandalized.   He is deeply offended on behalf of all good Sith citizens everywhere.   “That’s the sword of Lord Ragnos,” he breathes out, staring at it lying meters away in the grass, discarded like refuse.  That any Lord would be so cavalier with an heirloom talisman of Darkness is downright blasphemous. It’s one thing to refuse, but quite another thing to make the refusal so insulting. “That is the sword of our forefathers.   It is the sword of Empire.” Dessel raises wide, questioning eyes and a gaping mouth to Vitiate.</p>
<p>His audience is unimpressed by the reaction.  “I hate swords.  I have no use for swords. I’m not a warrior.”</p>
<p>Not a warrior?  Dessel blinks again in confusion.  “But you are the greatest warrior of the Empire,” he protests.  Under this man’s guidance, the Empire’s boundaries reached their farthest limits.  Moreover, much of his over a thousand-year reign was peaceful.  The war against the Republic was mostly a cold war back then. </p>
<p>But Lord Vitiate merely sniffs with disdain. “Wars don’t make one great.”</p>
<p>Dessel blinks at this statement. For war is the way of the Sith. Peace is a lie, after all.  From his crouch, Dessel opens his left hand and calls the discarded weapon into his grip with the Force.  Again, he offers it.  This time with vehemence. “Take it!   Take it, Excellency, and use it!” </p>
<p>Again, his audience is unenthusiastic.   “For what?   To kill you? I don’t need a sword to kill you.”  Vitiate snatches the weapon and casts it aside once more with a peevish, determined look. “I could kill you now with just my mind before you could form the inkling of a thought to resist.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes!” Dessel seizes upon this boast. He absolutely believes it. “That’s why I’m here.  Excellency, we beseech you.  We need your help.”</p>
<p>“My help?“</p>
<p>“Yes. The Dark Council sent me. The Jedi have become unstoppable. The Republic will control all the major systems within weeks. We need the Sith Emperor back.   We need Dark Lord Vitiate.”  It’s time for this guy to come out of retirement, or exile, or vacation, or whatever this is and kick some ass. He can start with the leaders of the main factions of the Sith elite to clean house.   Then, once the Empire is in decent shape, they can trounce the Republic.  They can make the galaxy great again.  </p>
<p>Lord Vitiate watches him closely with eyes that seem to see what he’s thinking. Dessel strives mightily not to squirm under the scrutiny. But damn . . . this guy is intimidating. He’s everything an Emperor should be. And exactly who the Sith need to whip them into shape to resist the Republic’s creeping onslaught.</p>
<p>But again, he refuses. Vitiate decrees, “You don't need me.”  Then, the grumpy Dark Lord abruptly turns on heel and begins walking.  </p>
<p>Dessel scrambles to his feet to follow.  “Did you hear a word I just said?” he demands, momentarily forgetting to show a courtier’s fawning deference.  There is undisguised indignation to his voice. “The Empire is crumbling!   Our people are dying!  The Lords are in complete disarray!  The infighting is destroying us.  We will never resist the Republic if we don’t unify soon. Your Excellency, we are weak!“ Dessel admits what none of the Lords on the Council will publicly say.  </p>
<p>Lord Vitiate halts and shoots him a look.  “It’s not my problem.”</p>
<p>“It is!”</p>
<p>The Dark Lord crosses his arms and digs in on his refusal.  “You are wasting your time.  I’m not who you think I am.”</p>
<p>“You are Lord Vitiate are you not?”</p>
<p>The man looks away and hardens his jaw. “I was . . . once. Not anymore.”</p>
<p>Huh? “It’s the name of your true self—you’ve only forgotten!” Dessel yelps. He leans into the hard sell now. “You saved us!  You rebuilt our fallen Empire from the ashes of defeat!   Darkness was supreme!” His words leap out in a nervous rush of flattery.</p>
<p>The man just grunts.  It’s an ugly sound. Then, he glowers some more as he announces, “Darkness was never supreme.  It was all a lie.”</p>
<p>“It was not!” Dessel snaps back before he can stop himself. Then, he colors at his rudeness. “Your pardon, your Excellency, if I offend. But I will proclaim Darkness with my dying breath. Darkness is supreme and ever shall be,” Dessel quotes a maxim of the Sith.</p>
<p>Vitiate smirks. “No, it’s not.  Trust me, I should know. I made up that lie and made every schoolkid memorize it.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a lie!”  What heresy is this? And from a Dark Lord, no less?</p>
<p>“I live here because Darkness is not supreme.”   Vitiate sighs and grumbles as he looks away again. “At least, not the way you think it is . . . ”</p>
<p>What’s that supposed to mean? “What is this place?” Dessel wonders aloud in dismay.  What’s so great about this place that Lord Vitiate wants to remain here? Sure, it’s pretty countryside but it looks wholly deserted.</p>
<p>“I call it Mortis.”</p>
<p>“Death.” Dessel translates the Kittat. It’s an ironic name for the home of someone who’s immortal. </p>
<p>Vitiate elaborates. He has a hurting and haunted tinge to his tone that is unnerving. “Here all is lost.  Here nothing matters.  There is no desire, no want, no time, and no consequence.  Here you cease to exist in every way.   But you persist nonetheless.”</p>
<p>So why would anyone choose to remain here?  Dessel doesn’t understand that cryptic gibberish and he doesn’t care to.  It all smacks of Jedi asceticism.</p>
<p>“I don’t live. I just am. Everlasting life, everlasting torment. Never a respite from my regrets. Never an outlet for my talents.”</p>
<p>“You’re bored of eternity?” Dessel surmises from this bizarre soliloquy of complaints.</p>
<p>“Yes and bored of power.” Vitiate looks pained now. “I’m a god but I’m not THE god. The Force is the god. It punishes me now for having the hubris to seek to be it. And how does it punish?   By making me like it--immortal. I am forever and that makes your petty fights and matters of state far beneath my notice.” Dark Lord Vitiate shoots him a scathing look. “I don’t care. Can’t you get that through your thick head, boy?”</p>
<p>The Sith are nothing if not persistent. So, Dessel resumes his plea.  Because if this guy is bored and needs to be needed, then Dessel has a job for him. “But Excellency, our way of life is at risk.  The Jedi—“</p>
<p>“I don’t care!” the Dark Lord overrides him. His lip curls and his pose is petulant. “What did you think was going to happen here?” Vitiate gestures to the twice discarded weapon lying in the grass.   “Did you think that I was going to walk out with some laser sword and face down the whole Republic for you? Do you think I came to the most unfindable place in the galaxy for no reason at all?”   Darth Vitiate shoots Dessel a stern warning look that makes his blood run cold.  “Go away,” he orders with a voice of steel resolve.</p>
<p>It’s not wise to anger a Dark Lord, but Dessel dares, knowing it’s risky but wanting to do his duty.  “I’m not leaving without you, Excellency--“</p>
<p>“You had best reconsider, whoever you are.  You aren’t the first to come here. I didn’t leave for the rest and I won’t leave for you. I will leave for one man and only one man.”</p>
<p>“Who is that?   Tell me and I’ll find him,” Dessel immediately offers.  </p>
<p>“He isn’t a Sith.”</p>
<p>“A Mandalore?”</p>
<p>“No. A Jedi.”</p>
<p>“The enemy?   You will come back for the enemy??”  Dessel is flabbergasted.  </p>
<p>“Yes. But he hasn’t even been born yet. The Sith will have to manage without me in the meantime until the Chosen One arrives,” Vitiate sighs.</p>
<p>Dessel doesn’t understand this man’s refusal any more than he comprehends his words. He’s no fan of the Jedi and he doesn’t care who this Chosen One is. Plus, Vitiate’s baffling words have him feeling increasingly desperate. He senses failure looming for his mission. And that has him worried for his own future as well as the Empire’s. “You were our only hope . . . “ Dessel stammers, feeling equal parts foolish and outraged. “Without you, we won’t survive.”</p>
<p>Lord Vitiate grunts again and shakes his head. “Young fool,” he sneers, “the Sith will endure. Darkness might not be supreme, but it is impossible to kill.”</p>
<p>“How can you be sure?   Have you foreseen it?” Dessel asks hopefully.  He’s looking for any silver lining now.</p>
<p>Lord Vitiate fixes him with a hard look.  “I have lived it,” he declares.  “I am thousands of years old. I was there the last time the Empire was defeated and in chaos. A leader emerged then. A leader will emerge now.” He gives Dessel a pointed look and then resumes walking away.  </p>
<p>“No—no, that won’t happen—“ Dessel protests as once again he follows.  He’s talking to Dark Lord Vitiate’s back now as he stutters, “That’s why I—we—need you.  You were that leader long ago once when we needed you--“</p>
<p>“Not anymore.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Dessel demands plainly. “You’re turning your back on us!” he accuses the retreating figure.</p>
<p>“I told you--I don’t care.” Lord Vitiate’s next words are truly shocking and terribly disappointing: “Besides . . . it is time for the Sith to die.”</p>
<p>“No!” Dessel reacts reflexively.  </p>
<p>Vitate halts and turns to raise an eyebrow at him. “You disagree?” he goads. “Then go save the Empire yourself.”</p>
<p>“That’s why I’m here. I’m saving the Empire by returning with you. Now, get on the ship, your Excellency,” Dessel attempts to take charge as respectfully as possible.</p>
<p>It prompts an amused smile from the reluctant Dark Lord. He cocks his head and asks, “Who are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m Dessel Hurst, your Excellency.”</p>
<p>“Not your name. Who are you?”</p>
<p>Dessel relays the humble truth. “I’m on the staff of the Dark Council. I’m the son a colonial miner.”</p>
<p>“You have the Force.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I’m a random and untrained. I was identified as a conscript to the infantry—"</p>
<p>“There’s no such thing as a random.  Nothing about the Force is a mistake or an afterthought. And so, I ask you again,” the Dark Lord grills him with yellow eyes that see right through him, “Who are you? Why are YOU here?”</p>
<p>Dessel blinks as they talk in circles. “I told you--the Dark Council sent me. We need your help. The Republic has become unstoppable—"</p>
<p>“No. Who are you, Dessel Hurst? What is your role in all of this?”</p>
<p>Dessel still doesn’t understand the question. He furrows his brow. “I’m just a messenger.”</p>
<p>“Is that so?” The Dark Lord again raises an eyebrow. Is he being mocked? Dessel isn’t sure. “The Force is with you, boy,” the great man observes thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Yes. It brought me here to find you.”</p>
<p>“You need a teacher,” Vitiate tells him. But, shaking his head, he sighs, “I can’t teach you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want a teacher, I want a leader,” Dessel grumbles.  “We need Sith Emperor Vitiate back.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving here.” Vitiate’s tone is final.</p>
<p>Dessel swallows hard and starts grasping for contingency plans. “Alright, then do you have a son somewhere? Someone to stand in your stead? I need someone with the imprimatur of your authority. Someone who can unify the ruling families.”</p>
<p>Vitiate shrugs. “I had three sons. The twins are long dead. My oldest is still around somewhere, I suppose. I never sensed him die.”</p>
<p>“I’ll find him. Where is he?”</p>
<p>The Dark Lord shrugs indifferently. “Your guess is as good as mine. I had him encased in carbonite thousands of years ago. He’s probably decorating someone’s wall. By all means, find him and thaw him out. He’ll rule your Empire. That’s what he wanted many years ago.” Vitiate’s face is inscrutable as he recalls aloud, “That bastard was the only real threat I ever had. He had hate, he had anger, and he knew how to use them.” The old Emperor’s yellow eyes slant across to Dessel as he adds coyly, “Like you.”</p>
<p>While Dessel shifts his weight, uncomfortable with the repeated focus on himself, Vitiate abruptly changes topic. “Who’s the girl? I foresaw your arrival but not the advent of the girl.”</p>
<p>Dessel follows his glance to the ship behind them and immediately answers, “There is no girl.”</p>
<p>“You’re a terrible liar. And a foolish one, at that. I used to execute anyone who dared lie to me. Remember that--it’s a good habit to get in. So, I ask you again,” Vitiate drawls, “who’s the girl?”</p>
<p>Dessel gulps. “My sister.”</p>
<p>“Is she pretty? Her Force is beautiful . . . just beautiful.”</p>
<p>“She’s my sister, and I’ll kill any man who hurts her,” Dessel growls. He’s not about to allow Zannah to be offered up as tribute to this self-exiled Lord who probably hasn’t had a woman in a thousand years. Dessel is here to fulfill a mission, and he draws the line at involving his sister.</p>
<p>Vitiate looks at him again like he can read his mind. The grumpy, recalcitrant Dark Lord decides, “I like you. Get someone good to train you when you get back.”</p>
<p>“I’m a colonial and a random. No one will train me,” Dessel mutters.</p>
<p>“So the Sith are still snobs? Does everyone still go around crowing about their ancestry and red skin?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Now, it’s Dessel’s turn to be bitter. He can’t begin to compete in a society that reveres inherited privilege more than actual talent.</p>
<p>“Then, no wonder the Empire is failing. It’s still being run by inbred idiots.” Vitiate squints at him. “So, even in wartime, they won’t train you? Because you aren’t an aristocrat?”</p>
<p>“The Sith like their traditions,” Dessel replies as diplomatically as possible.</p>
<p>Vitiate grouses, “They should like victory better.”</p>
<p>“If I bring you back, my boss has promised to take me on as his Apprentice.”</p>
<p>“Is that a reward or punishment?” the Dark Lord asks wryly.</p>
<p>“Does it matter? It’s my only chance at advancement.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Lord Vitiate instructs. “Power is not something you achieve, it is something you take.”</p>
<p>“Is that so, Excellency?” Dessel turns the tables on that argument, “Because I’m offering you power now.  Why don’t you take it?”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving here.” Again, Vitiate’s tone is final.</p>
<p>None of this makes sense to Dessel. But perhaps if he knew why Vitiate left in the first place, he would understand.  Dare he ask that?   He does.  “Why did you leave us?”<br/><br/>The Dark Lord growls, “I didn’t leave.”<br/><br/>“Oh.”  Before Dessel can pursue that topic, Vitiate shoots him a quelling death glare. Dessel immediately decides not to go there.  <br/><br/>The Dark Lord resumes his advice. “Power is something you take. Don’t bother trying to earn it. Forget building a resume to impress anyone. Your birth ensures you will never be the equal of anyone’s esteem you covet.” It’s typical Sith tough love delivered bluntly.</p>
<p>“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t bother trying?” Dessel sighs. He’s heard that advice before.</p>
<p>But the Dark Lord has a different twist on the conventional wisdom. “No, I’m saying you should sidestep their standards and flout their rules. If you cannot succeed within the establishment, then upend it. Remake it as you see fit. Tell me, can you use that sword you made?”</p>
<p>Dessel’s hand immediately finds the homemade unauthorized weapon at his waist. He confesses, “I’m not supposed to.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I asked.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I can use it.”</p>
<p>“Do you need to use it? Can you kill with your mind?”</p>
<p>“N-No,” Dessel admits.</p>
<p>“Work on that. You’re going to need every advantage you can get.”</p>
<p>Dessel is still unwilling to give up. He resumes his efforts to return with the immortal Dark Lord. “Please, your Excellency,” he outright begs as he drops to both knees in the grass, “if the Empire ever meant anything to you—if you ever loved our people and the cause of Darkness---please, please,” he urges, “return with me now.”  </p>
<p>“Kid—”</p>
<p>“You will be the hero of all Dark heroes, the savior of the Empire once again, and all glory and honor will be yours.”</p>
<p>“Look, kid, I’m not leaving here.” The man’s yellow eyes find his. “Accept it,” he commands.</p>
<p>Dessel stops talking as the message finally sinks in. He looks down at his clasped hands. Resigned, he climbs slowly to his feet. He shoots the thoroughly disappointing Dark Lord a hard look of reproach. “Then Emperor Vitiate truly is dead,” he hisses.  </p>
<p>Dessel’s expecting Force lightning for that disrespect. But Lord Vitiate just nods at him sadly. Almost in agreement.</p>
<p>“It was worth a shot,” Dessel mutters under his breath. Then, he turns and heads back for the shuttle ramp.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?” Vitiate calls after him.</p>
<p>“It looks like I’m going nowhere,” Dessel shoots back peevishly as he kicks at the dirt in frustration. He’s through pretending deference to this has-been who betrays his people when they need him most. Dessel has spent his whole life deferring to his betters and knowing his place in the hierarchy of authority. That’s one aspect of the Empire he won’t miss when it falls. “I’m not going home, that’s for sure. There’s nothing for me there now,” he laments.</p>
<p>This answer does not please Lord Vitiate. “You need to go home. You must go home.”</p>
<p>“Why? So I can be there for the end? No, thanks. I’m taking my sister and fleeing to wild space.” That’s not an idle threat. Dessel means it. Because in the battle between Dark and Light, one man can make a difference—if that man is someone like Lord Vitiate. But an aide to an aide to a Dark Council Lord won’t make history. Dessel Hurst will be just one more name on a long casualty list. And his sister? Well, who knows what the Jedi will do if they find a young, pretty Dark Force-user unprotected by her husband or family? They’ll probably induct her into their cult and indoctrinate her to become one of their nuns. Dessel refuses to allow her to be preyed upon like that.</p>
<p>“You must go back.”</p>
<p>Seriously? Vitiate thinks he can lecture him on going back when he himself outright refuses? That doesn’t sit well with Dessel. “I know a lost cause when I see one,” he grumbles. “Even you know it, don’t you? You’ve foreseen it. That’s why you won’t help us.”</p>
<p>“Go back,” Vitiate orders, “go back and return to me with the Dark Council. Tell the Lords that I will choose a leader from among them.”</p>
<p>That offer gets Dessel’s attention.</p>
<p>Vitiate continues, “I will not return as Emperor, but I will anoint my successor from among the candidates.”</p>
<p>Dessel considers. “He will have the aegis of your authority, you mean?”</p>
<p>“Yes. The next Dark Lord will inherit my legacy,” Vitiate nods. “My decision will confer legitimacy on him. Will that suffice? Will that save the Sith?”</p>
<p>“Is that your best offer?” Dessel counters.</p>
<p>Vitiate smirks. Then, improbably, he smiles. “I like you, kid,” Lord Vitiate approves. “Now, go. Return to me with the Lords who would be Emperor and I will choose the winner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dessel hangs back to bring up the rear of the parade of notables who tromp down the shuttle ramp.  Zannah remains inside, of course.  Women have no overt place in the affairs of the Empire, most especially in matters of statecraft.  His sister is relegated to the shuttle galley where she has been cooking and cleaning for the entire trip, her presence explained as a domestic.  Because yet again, Dessel refused to leave her behind.</p>
<p><br/><br/>The Lords of the Dark Council who he now returns with number twelve men in all.  They are the preeminent achievers of their respective disciplines.  Ranging in age from their mid-fifties to their mid-eighties, they exist at the apex of Imperial power.  These powerful decisionmakers oversee all aspects of the Empire, from military affairs and intelligence, to logistics and economic development, to education and civic life, as well as diplomacy and the judicial system.  Traditionally, the Council Lords manage the day-to-day affairs of the Imperial bureaucracy, being personally accountable to the Emperor.  But in these unsettled times when the Sith lack leadership, the Council Lords are rivals vying for the open seat at the top.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>They’re a nest of vipers in Dessel’s opinion.  These men are distinguished as much for their treachery as for their ambition.  They represent all that is wrong with the Sith system.   For their sense of purpose is mostly for their own advancement, not for the good of the Empire.  Their loyalty is malleable based on circumstances.  Many take pride in their betrayals, bragging about how they cannot be trusted. Meanwhile, the foot soldiers of the Sith fight and die for these men’s ambitions.  So many lives wasted for hubris while the Empire languishes and the Republic bites at its borders.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>But his opinions—which Dessel would never voice aloud—are irrelevant.  Because in the hierarchical society of the Sith, Dessel has no voice in public affairs.  Only Lords get to participate and if you’re not born into the aristocracy, you can’t earn your way in.   Every now and then, a random Force user rises through the ranks, but those success stories are extremely rare.  And so, all of Dessel’s Force and all of his insights go to waste.  In many ways, he might as well be Zannah in an apron in the shuttle.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>The Council Lords are all prepared to meet the Dark Lord they grew up hearing stories about.  Everyone knows tales about the mysterious, elusive, reclusive, and terrifying Dark Lord Vitiate.  But no one knows which tales, if any, are true. And so, while every Lord present is trying not to show it, they are as intimidated as they are excited.  For among their ranks, Lord Vitiate will choose a man to rule.</p>
<p><br/><br/>One and all, the Council Lords wear ceremonial armor for the occasion like they are marching into the Palace throne room.  It’s a lot of shiny silver and black paldrons and breastplates, topped off by flowing capes and the occasional mask.  Here and there, you can spy a flourish of scarlet red for a dash of style.  Every man is armed with a saber, naturally, but the weapons are as individualized as the rest of their presentations.  Some Lords wear the usual hand hilt strapped to their hip while others brandish a double bladed saberstaff. One even carries a mace like club.   It’s a lot of posturing to suggest wealth, power, and prowess, in typical Sith fashion.   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The handsomely attired Lords now assemble in one horizontal line of equals to face Lord Vitiate. Dessel hangs back looking woefully underdressed and unarmed in his plain black uniform and boots.   This time, he doesn’t even have his homemade sword on him.   With the Lords present, he doesn’t dare reveal his contraband weapon.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>For his part, Lord Vitiate awaits with arms crossed and a severe glower.  His grey and golden robes may not appear very Sith, but his cold-eyed expression is classic Dark Side posturing.  Watching him, Dessel can completely believe this guy ruled a thousand years and more.   For Lord Vitiate’s innate gravitas does not disappoint.  He has the Ragnos sword affixed to his waist, Dessel sees. This is the prize for today’s winner displayed for all to see.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Around them the Force hangs heavy with dread, fear, and anticipation. It’s unsettling and upsetting. Dessel has to fight the urge to fidget. And what is he nervous for? He’s just a bystander for this grand occasion.</p>
<p><br/>“Your Excellency,” the oldest and longest serving of the Council Lords speaks on behalf of their retinue.   On that cue, all twelve Lords and Dessel standing in the rear take a knee to show respect. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Arise,” Vitiate responds with a regal wave of his hand. He sounds almost bored and his expression is annoyed.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>The Council Lords and Dessel arise. In the culture of the Sith, you do as you are told by your superior.  Everyone has to kneel to someone, save the Dark Lord himself.</p>
<p><br/><br/>The Emperor in exile now takes the lead, demanding, “My Lords, who among you is worthy to take my place?   Step forward and nominate yourself.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>Each of the Council Lords takes a step forward and the whole line advances in unison.</p>
<p><br/><br/>Dessel nearly chokes as he watches Vitiate roll his eyes in response.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>“I thought so,” the old Emperor drawls with cutting disdain.   Then, he reverts to Kittat, the ancient language of the church of Darkness.  These days, the mother tongue has fallen from common use.  Kittat is relegated to university historians and to religious scholars.  It’s a language for Temple liturgies and prayers, for formal weddings and public executions.  So when Vitiate next speaks, the majority of the Council Lords appear to be frantically translating in their heads, no doubt casting their minds back decades to wily grandmothers who cast Dark charms and to devout great uncles who dragged them as kids to weekly seances at the Temple.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All except Dessel who understands.  Because while Dark training is restricted to the elite, the religion of Darkness is not.  Most of what he knows about the Force, Dessel learned through its old-time religion.  And that required him to learn its archaic language.  He’s actually very good with Kittat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Avete vos.   Vis vobiscum,” Lord Vitiate now intones solemnly.  <em>Fare thee well.  May the Force be with you.</em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The old Emperor catches Dessel’s eye in the far back. He smirks as he drawls to the assembled group, “This is the point when you tell me: Ave, Imperator: Morituri te salutant.”  <em>Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel’s eyes widen.  He feels his pulse quicken and his sense of danger heightens still more. Because what has he done??  Dessel understands immediately what’s coming next, even if the ignorant aristocrats are still attempting to translate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lord Vitiate now raises both hands and shoots Force lighting from his fingertips   It’s power like nothing Dessel has ever seen or heard of because it’s strangely red.  As a rule, Dark Force energy is blue.   At least, self-taught Dessel thought it was.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The red crackling bolts find each of the twelve Lords simultaneously.   There is no time to react.  No opportunity for self-defense.  The dozen leading men of the Empire fall immediately.  Dessel doesn’t need to investigate to know that they are dead.   The Force tells him so.   One and all, they have been murdered with cool efficiency.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, it’s just him and deadly Lord Vitiate.   For lowly Dessel Hurst is the last man standing. Probably because he’s not a threat, he guesses.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, that’s over with,” Vitiate remarks as he surveys his handiwork with satisfaction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“W-Why?” Dessel stammers as he stares at the fallen.  These were the preeminent Lords of the day.   For all their shortcomings and pettiness, they knew the most about the workings of the Empire and were best positioned to steward it. Now, they are gone and the fate of the Sith way of life is perhaps lost with them.   Dessel gulps back his rising panic. “W-Why?” he demands of Vitiate. He’s entitled to an explanation at the least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“None was worthy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And for that, they die?” Dessel snarls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Power is a high stakes game.  You play to win, and you risk it all when you lose,” the Dark Lord answers with blithe detachment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel himself feels anything but objectively calm now. “Those men were our leadership!   You just eradicated the last semblance of order left in the Empire!” First, Lord Vitiate declines to help and then he makes it impossible for the Sith to save themselves.  How dare he!   Dessel is incensed at this stunt.  Incensed too that he has been unwittingly duped into being Vitiate’s chump accomplice.   His sense of misuse is growing by the moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Dark Lord senses his burgeoning resentment and approves.  “Good.   Use those aggressive feelings, boy.   Let the hate flow through you and empower you.  Only then will you be strong enough in the Dark Side to fulfill your destiny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As it is, Dessel is struggling to keep his cool. Worried that he will be the next to fall if he says too much and angers this Dark Lord.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Vitiate assures him otherwise. “Relax, I didn’t bring you back here to kill you. I want you to live. Now, where’s your sword?  You’re going to need one now.  Everyone will be after you.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>It’s true, Dessel thinks with a sinking feeling as he again looks at the bodies strewn on the ground.  He’s the guy who lured the entire Dark Council to their deaths.  This is treachery on a scale that could unite the fractious Lords together against him.  And maybe that is Vitiate’s ploy—to give the Sith a common enemy.  But that tactic won’t work for the long term, Dessel thinks.  The Sith already have a common enemy in the Jedi-loving Republic and that situation hasn’t provoked commonality.  So, what is this wily Dark Lord actually up to?  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vitiate is looking at him expectantly and he has that strange red Force lightning, so Dessel has to answer.   He nervously explains, “I don’t carry a sword usually. I’m not formally trained—“</p>
<p><br/><br/>“Neither was I.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>“—And only proper Lords are permitted to carry a sword.”  Not upstart wannabes like himself. Some in the military wear a sidearm, but Sith common folk are generally unarmed.  Only the ruling class get to openly carry an elegant weapon like a lightsaber.  The sword itself is a symbol of class distinction.  That’s why Dessel’s own version is homemade and never worn in public.  He lacks the proper pedigree to wield it.</p>
<p><br/><br/>Vitiate could care less about those customs, however. “No sword? Then, here. Take this one.”  The onetime Emperor lobs the saber hilt of Marka Ragnos at Dessel’s chest.  “Catch!” he laughs.</p>
<p><br/>Dessel automatically intercepts the ancient, ancestral sword and cringes.  “I couldn’t . . .” he whispers automatically.   The effrontery of luring the leading Lords to their deaths will only be compounded by the insult of an untrained colonial nobody stealing the sword of state.  Yes, Vitiate is definitely setting him up to be a marked man.   Dessel feels increasingly panicky about the situation he finds himself in.   He came here trying to help and suddenly he’s the villain.   This is all wrong.  He shakes his head in refusal.  “I could never—“</p>
<p><br/><br/>“Sure you could,” Vitiate cajoles.</p>
<p><br/><br/>Dessel looks up sharply to protest. “But I’m not even a Lord.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>“I can fix that.  I’ll make you a Lord right now.  What shall we call you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>“You’re serious?” Dessel gapes . . . even as part of him secretly hopes. </p>
<p><br/><br/>“Yes.  I’m making you a Lord of the Sith.”  Vitiate can do it, too.  For it has long been the prerogative of a Dark Lord to bestow warlord status.   Vitiate now offers, “Go ahead. Pick a name. What will history call you?”</p>
<p><br/><br/>Dessel has his Lord’s moniker picked out.  Every Sith boy sits around for hours wasting time with his friends debating what their Lord name might be.  It was a fanciful exercise for all but young Dessel who actually had the Force.  And so this moment, as unorthodox as it is, fulfills a dream of his. “Vanquish,” Dessel offers a bit sheepishly as he feels his cheeks redden.  Because is this happening? Is this actually happening?? This feels like a nightmare combined with a miracle.</p>
<p><br/><br/>Darth Vitiate makes a face at his selection. “No. Try again. Something better.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>So, Dessel goes with his second choice.  “Valor.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>The ancient Emperor snorts.  “That sounds like a Jedi.  Bane,” he decides.  “I will call you Darth Bane because lately you are the bane of my existence.  Turning up here disturbing my meditation.  Bothering me with talk of my old job.  Bringing me a parade of idiots. Well, go ahead . . . take a knee and let’s do this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uhhh . . .”  Dessel hesitates.  He’s suddenly shy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“O-okay . . . “  Feeling as pleased as he feels awkward about this latest strange turn of events, Dessel sinks to one knee. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can’t help but think that this moment is entirely too casual.   It should be proceeded by a stint at the Academy and an Apprenticeship.  Then, at long last, he would merit this graduation.  But instead, all Dessel did was to fulfill a request from a self-exiled Emperor who refuses to return to power and so he killed the Lords who summoned him.   For being an accomplice to that murder, Dessel becomes a Lord.  And that seems wrong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Moreover, the setting is not right. Dessel should be in a dimly lit throne room surrounded by the rest of the newly minted class of young Lords.  One by one, the young warrior aristocrats would be introduced to step forward.  With their male kin and their proud Master looking on, each would make their obeisance to the reigning Dark Lord and be invited to arise using their new name and title. It's a tradition as old as the Sith, carried out with their culture’s taste for heavy pageantry and conspicuous posturing.  But he and Vitiate reenact it impromptu here in the grass on Mortis. He’s not a worthy candidate and the man who promotes him could care less about the Empire.  So, on some level, this mocks a proud tradition as much as it fulfills it.  </p>
<p><br/>Yet again, Dessel doesn’t know what to make of what’s happening.  But suddenly, he is feeling very maneuvered.  Like some earnest innocent who is being taken advantage of.  And maybe bought off even as he is assigned blame.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Arise, Darth Bane,” Vitiate intones and at least he gets that part right.  Dessel, of course, obeys.  He stands to his feet.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There.  You’re the real deal now.  Anointed by a Dark Lord to be a Dark Lord.”</p>
<p><br/>Wait—what?  “Dark Lord??” Dessel gasps. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vitiate nods. “You’ve got the sword.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, but Dessel didn’t understand the sword to connote THAT.   He looks down at the coveted hilt in his hands with wide eyes and a rush of terror.   “You’re serious . . .”<br/><br/>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel is dismayed.  “But I can’t lead the Sith.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why not?  You’ve got enough Force.  A lot of Force.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But I’m not trained,” Dessel sputters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Neither was I. You can learn as you go like I did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel gulps as he watches Vitiate nod encouragingly.   “What do I do now?” awestruck Dessel worries aloud. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Consolidate power,” the old Emperor advises.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you were Marka Ragnos, you would politic your way to consensus and lead a team of rivals by making them each beholden to you in their own way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Easier said than done.  “I can’t do that.  No one will respect me.  I’m a colonial.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So was I.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.” Really?  Dessel squints across at Lord Vitiate. He now understands the beard, if nothing else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was a self-taught sorcerer,” Vitiate recalls, “not a warrior or a diplomat.  So, I had to settle for alternative methods to consolidate power.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel’s eyes narrow. “What are those?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I killed everyone who could oppose me with Dark magic.  That’s always your best tactic:  death.   Lean into it. I gave you a head start today.”  The one-time Emperor gestures to the dead Council Lords around them.  “Go finish what Darth Vitiate started and kill the rest. It is time for the Sith to end.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You want me to kill everyone?” Dessel chokes.   That sort of violence is exactly what he came here to avoid.  His goal is to avoid a civil war, not to provoke one.  Certainly not to lead one. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’ll all be looking to kill you now,” Vitiate points out.  “Get used to it.  When you’re in charge, you always have a target on your back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re right,” Dessel concedes unhappily even as he recoils. “I didn’t want this . . .” he whispers aloud in terror as the true ramifications of his predicament sink in. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Liar,” the former Emperor accuses mildly.  “You know all the problems with the Empire, you know you have the talent.  I’m merely giving you the opportunity to do what you want so badly: to make positive change for the future.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to save the Sith, not destroy them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come now . . . those tasks are one and the same.  Search your feelings and you will discover the truth. In time, you will reach the same conclusion as I have.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I want to save the Sith, not destroy them!” Dessel growls. He grits his teeth and vents his growing frustration with a glare at Vitiate.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man merely shrugs. “You said yourself that the Empire needs a new leader. You are that leader now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I’m not.  You!” Dessel points an accusatory finger at Vitiate’s chest, “you are that leader.   I’m not ready for this,” he rambles shakily. “I don’t want this . . . I will never succeed at this . . . “</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I once felt the same way as you do now.  But I was the one the Force chose.  And now, it chooses you,” the old Emperor tells him patiently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no—it chose you again!   The Force brought me here to find you—“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.  I foresaw your arrival.  I have foreseen all of it.  Now, go fulfill your destiny, Darth Bane.  Go make the Sith whatever you wish, for you are the Force’s favorite now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why??   Why are you making this my responsibility?” Dessel rages.  “This is your role, not mine!” he hisses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Force chooses you.   Not me. This time, greatness is your destiny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something about the old Emperor’s tone is wistful and his expression resentful.  And that’s when Dessel thinks he finally understands what’s afoot. Why Vitiate turned him down in the first place and why he murdered those who would inherit his role in cold blood. “You can’t leave, can you?”  It comes out as a furtive whisper Dessel knows he should not have voiced.   It’s a wild guess he probably should never have put into words.</p>
<p><br/>Vitiate deflects the question rather than denies it. “Why would I wish to rule yet another empire?”  And that confirms for Dessel that his hunch is correct.  This Mortis—whatever it is and however it exists—is not a refuge.  Darth Vitiate is not in exile or retirement.  He’s in prison. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The meaning sinks in: Vitiate is not disdainful of the opportunity to lead the Sith, like he pretends. He’s envious.  The Council Lords died for jealousy, not for ambition. And to punk them all, he anoints an untrained, colonial nobody in their place.</p>
<p><br/><br/>“You want to help, but you can’t, can you?” Dessel presses for an answer, foolish tactic though it may be.  </p>
<p><br/><br/>Lord Vitiate shrugs.  “I had my chance.  It is too late for me now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is this place?   How did you get here?”  Suddenly, Dessel recalls Vitiate’s comment that he never left.  He’s not here voluntarily, that’s for sure.  And now, the name Mortis makes sense.   For this is a living death for the supreme Sith Emperor who alone achieved the ultimate Dark trick of immortality. This man can’t be killed   But, apparently, he can be sidelined.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who did this to you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Again, Vitiate deflects the question. “That’s a good story for another time.  Suffice to say that a powerful Jedi allied with an upstart Sith Lord to concoct this verdant cage.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re in prison in the Force.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vitiate sighs and looks away.  “It won’t let me die, so it must have use for me still.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.”  Dessel is flabbergasted by what he’s hearing.  And by his own role in all of this. “How do we get you out of here?” he demands, seeking a way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t do it,” Vitiate harrumphs. “No one alive can do it.” The old Dark Lord now seeks to gird his resolve, commanding, “Go forth, Lord Bane and do what must be done.  Do not hesitate.  Show no mercy.  Only then will you be strong enough in the Dark Side to save the Sith.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Dessel is still focused on what got him the big job in the first place—Dark Lord Vitiate’s inability to return as requested.  “This Jedi you said you wait for—is he the one who can set you free?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vitiate nods. “Only the Chosen One who can balance the Force can let me loose again on the galaxy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Balance the Force?  What does that mean?”  And why is that a goal?   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vitiate puts him off.  “Go kill all the Sith and come back to me and we shall discuss it, Apprentice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Dessel takes his leave before Lord Vitiate can break out the red lightning again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Back on the ship, Zannah has watched it all.  She listens to his terse report and waits until they are back in hyperspace to discuss what to do.  She wanders in to find him slumped in a seat in the main cabin turning over the Ragnos sword hilt in his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His frustration right now is only matched by his despair.   For how did he get into this position? Dessel feels himself heading to a very Dark place. To the place only fear, hate, and suffering can take you.  And that is galling because Dessel knows it’s where Vitiate intends.   He has been expertly manipulated by the imprisoned Dark Lord to do his bidding. Moreover, Vitiate has well equipped him with the necessary Dark desperation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t do it.  I can’t go on alone,” he laments. “Maybe if a few of the Council Lords were left—"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Des, I will always be with you,” concerned Zannah promises as she plops down beside him and gives him a nudge with one shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her comment and gesture make him smile, but it doesn’t change the situation. “Thanks, but I’m not ready for this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He thinks you are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hardly. Dessel makes a face. “He thinks I’m his stooge.   He’s got an angle on this setup, I’m sure of it.”  But the new Darth Bane doesn’t know enough about the Force to appreciate the subtleties of the situation. He’s never heard of balance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zannah keeps cheerleading. “You can do it, Des. You could be the leader we need. You know more than all those Council Lords put together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shakes his head. “They will never accept me. This sword means nothing really. It’s just a symbol of authority that I don’t actually have.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Make them respect you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?” he grouses.</p>
<p>“Maybe you should look at this differently,” Zannah ventures softly. “Maybe instead of making you the fall guy, he’s giving you a chance to make things the way you want them to be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He said himself that he wanted the Sith to end,” Dessel answers glumly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would that be so bad?” she posits the unthinkable. “What if the Empire as we know it should end? What if that’s the only way for it to change?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dessel sighs. “You’re too young to understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She persists. “I’m old enough to know that a society that worships past glory will never achieve it anew.  Not with slavish devotion to rank and privilege that crowds out real talent like yours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And yours,” he reminds her. His kid sister has enormous merit but even less opportunity than he does. But still . . .   “I’m sure the Republic has its own share of inherited wealth and advantages.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, let the Republic win.   Sit on the sidelines and watch the Lords make a mess of things.   Then deal with the remaining Lords on your own terms. Reveal yourself when you are ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” he grumbles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It means let the enemy do your dirty work.  Let the Sith lose.   Then, be the one to pick up the pieces.” She shrugs. “Until then, study the Force and grow your power. Be ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But I’m a nobody.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No one will care then,” she points out. “Not if it’s as bad as you say it will be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her argument has him realizing something important now. “What you’re saying—the scenario you propose—Zee, that’s what Vitiate himself did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, he tells her the tale.  She knows some of it.  How at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, the Sith Empire was soundly defeated by the Republic and in full retreat.  It was then that an unremarkable sorcerer convened a meeting of the surviving Lords at his obscure planet.  Eight thousand men attended to sort out what to do next.  The sorcerer and the other Lords took part in a Dark ritual that consumed the participants’ Force, as well as the Force belonging to all living things on the planet.  The combined life Force was transferred to the conniving sorcerer, making him immortal.  With the Sith leadership either dead in the war or dead in his ritual ruse, the crafty sorcerer declared himself Emperor of the Sith unopposed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The new Emperor led his people on a twenty-year exodus into the Unknown Regions.  There, hidden from the enemy Republic deep in wild space, for over a thousand years he rebuilt Sith society and remade its armies. Slowly over the centuries, he forged a vibrant, resilient Empire.   All ostensibly for the single goal of re-emerging one day to strike back at the Republic.  For revenge, as always, is the Dark Side’s stated goal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That man—that sorcerer who waited out the war and then killed everyone—he was Darth Vitiate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zannah digests this history a moment.  “So . . . you’re saying that he is making you himself all over again?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I guess he thinks that’s a good thing,” Dessel grumbles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” she reasons, “if he can’t leave to come help us himself, then he’s giving us the next best thing, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, come on,” miserable Dessel sighs. “I’m no Darth Vitiate, Zee.   I can’t even cast Force lightning.“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe not yet.   But someday, you will,” she says loyally.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gonna have to learn quick.   He’s put me in a terrible position.  I look like a traitor now.   People know that I was the one who left with the Council Lords.”   Dessel is feeling a bit frantic about that predicament already.  Especially for what it means for his sister.  “When we get back, you need to hide.   I’m a target now and men will seek you out to get to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What does she mean ‘no’??  His kid sister is normally very sharp, but is she slow on the uptake now?   He’s a dangerous man to be around. He could get her killed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Des, we’re in this together like we’ve been since Dad died.   Only it’s Darth Bane and Darth Zannah now,” she jokes as she cracks a smile.  Trust it to Zee to see on the bright side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Listen to me, Zannah.” He uses her formal name, which he never does.  “I don’t know where this is heading.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do. You could end up Emperor like Vitiate did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m more likely to end up dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re great with a sword. And,” she gives him another lopsided smile, “you’ve got me as your Apprentice, remember? Let’s just see where this goes, Master,” she coaxes. Zee leans in to give him another playful bump with her shoulder. “The Force is with you,” she whispers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>THE END</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. story notes</h2></a>
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    <p>Hello and thanks for reading.</p><p> </p><p>So this little fic has been rattling around in my brain since I wrote <em>Versions of You</em> starring Sith Emperor Vitiate as the Dark power located deep in the Unknown Regions who calls out to Darth Sidious and later Rey.   <em>Versions of You </em>is ostensibly a Reylo fic but Vitiate really does steal the show. He’s the guy who Sidious builds all those observatories on Jakku and elsewhere to find. Why? Because Vitiate’s trapped in jail in the Force waiting for someone to balance things to let him out. But he’s more than that—he’s also a slew of important figures in history from Syfo Dias to Plagueis to Snoke. How? Because after a few thousand years in prison, the wily Sith figured out how to project himself out of captivity using the Force. He just can’t stand being out of the action and he loves to stir the pot.  As it turns out, he’s been doing it for generations. In the story, he becomes a mentor to Rey and a troll to Kylo. Plus, he is the cause of many a silly scene.</p><p> </p><p>Vitiate is also the mastermind in the background in Revan’s memories in <em>Recalled to Life</em> and the aggrieved (secretly jealous) hater who quietly dogs Malgus in <em>DARKER</em>. He’s the hot mess of Darkness as the reigning Sith Emperor in <em>Taking the Veil</em>, a man so insecure and uncomfortable with his background that he lives two completely separate lives, much to the dismay of his ladylove when a coup attempt exposes him.   I just love the crazy Carl Tenebrae, Lord Vitiate who is as peevish and vindictive as they come, but also amazingly insightful. So, naturally, I always imagined that Vitiate’s path would cross with Bane since Bane is the man who remakes the Sith—like Vitiate before him—but with a very different result.  </p><p> </p><p>I like my Sith Lords to be complex men with varied and sometimes conflicting motivations. They don’t always know what they want. They evolve.  Sometimes what they think they want isn’t what they end up wanting at all (looking at you, Darth Malgus!).   So, when we meet Bane, he’s not even a Lord. Moreover, he’s unlikely to ever be one. He doesn’t have grand plans yet to kill everyone to end the endless infighting and create the Rule of Two. But he will. Bane destroys the Sith as a political and military sovereign institution and makes them a cult.   He reduces a proud tradition to its essence all under the guise of saving it. He’s the Sith’ari right?   Well, maybe. It’s sort of a running joke in my fics how every Sith Lord believes he is the Sith’ari. They all want to place themselves at the apex of their own tradition. It’s often how they justify their excesses.</p><p> </p><p>So, Bane here is just starting out. He still wants to save the Sith—he hasn’t yet set out to kill them all—but the experiences and mindset that will lead him there are already instilled. My version of the Sith Empire is very rigid and hierarchical. It’s full of limitations and control. That leaves little room for men like Bane to succeed. In many ways, he will become a revolutionary/anarchist by default because it’s impossible for him to succeed any other way.  </p><p> </p><p>But for now, Bane believes in what remains of the Empire Vitiate crafted and the religious dogma of Darkness that Vitiate himself grew to question.   Bane doesn’t know that the Empire is a lie. Just an exercise in control and vanity imagined on an enormous scale by Vitiate. Whatever altruism the much younger Vitiate had when he began is long gone. It’s all a lie—even the revenge of the Sith against the Republic--as Vitiate’s love will discover to her utter disillusionment in <em>Taking the Veil</em>.  </p><p> </p><p>We have the trope of the earnest youth called to heroism on the Light Side—namely, Luke and Rey. Well, I like to show that same experience from the Dark Side perspective. This is the Dark hero origin story. Vitiate himself is an example—the story of how he became who he is from <em>Taking the Veil</em> is as sad as it is believable. On the path to power, this guy destroys everything he truly cares for—from the accidental death of his parents, to the accidental destruction of his homeworld. Kylo too lives this trope in <em>Son of Darkness</em> when Luke Skywalker attempts to kill him and everyone else at his Jedi teaching temple and Kylo flees to Snoke with the survivors. Kylo’s the hero who saves the remaining students and then leads them into Darkness thinking he has no choice. Bane will be my latest example of a kid driven by circumstances to be a Dark hero.  He sure didn’t volunteer for this. Are these Dark changemakers chosen by the Force or do they chose the path the Force wants?   You decide.   But either way, the Force is with them.  </p><p> </p><p>While I am a slave to SW movie canon, I take Legends canon as a jumping off point, especially the Sith Empire stuff which is a convoluted mess quite often. I tend to view it all as “Sith Legend,” meaning that it might not necessarily be exactly true. Or, it might be one version of the truth, but not the whole truth. So while Zannah isn’t Bane’s sister in canon, I went with it. I love the idea of Sith family. This might have been a longer story, but I’m not in the right headspace for that right now. So it’s just a few chapters to get you thinking.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks for reading.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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